


The Specter in Brooklyn

by FujurPreux, laurus_nobilis



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Getting Together, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, M/M, Poltergeists, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Shared Blanket, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujurPreux/pseuds/FujurPreux, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurus_nobilis/pseuds/laurus_nobilis
Summary: Steve got a new job: to break the curse that prevents people from staying in a haunted apartment building for more than three days. Bucky helps him to unravel the mystery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was.  
> Title taken from here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost_Stories_(magazine)

"…clean clothes, a blanket, canned soup, cheese, bread , some rope…" Steve marked every item on his list as he put them in his backpack . When he finished, he stared at it and murmured, "Am I forgetting anything?"

"Yes. Apple pie and common sense," Bucky said. He was leaning against the door frame, arms folded and trying to look as the very image of resignation. "I know I tell you this every five minutes, but you're going to get yourself killed."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I only have to sleep there three nights, Buck. Don't tell me you believe in ghosts now."

"Of course not." Bucky started counting with his fingers. "I know that zone and I believe in rotten floorboards, beams that fall down, rats, forgotten rusty nails, and drafts of freezing air among other niceties."

"The building is in decent conditions, Buck. I know. I saw it  when I talked with the landlord yesterday."

Bucky shook his head. "Alright. Can't say I didn't try. My conscience is clear."

"Good for you."

"And since I want to keep it like that, I'm willing to provide the common sense in your adventure if I get to keep all the pie for myself." He lifted his own backpack so Steve could see it.

Steve's perpetual defensive frown turned into a smile of surprise. "You're coming?"

"Like you'd make it through otherwise, let's be honest."

Despite the cushion Steve threw at Bucky's face—elegantly dodged, by the way—, his smile had grown wider. Far from Bucky's plan was to ever admit it out loud, but Steve's smile made him happy. Steve had the tendency of smiling less than he should, which was a shame. It didn't only make him look nice and approachable, but also charming and… well, handsome. More handsome than usual, to be honest. But that was something else Bucky would never admit to anyone. Ever.

In any case, Steve made everything worse by putting that 'it's us against the world' face as he put on his backpack. "Let's go, then," he said.

"Let's," Bucky repeated and let Steve lead the way.

As Steve had said, provided they were careful, this shouldn't be difficult. The building they were heading to had been abandoned for three years before Mr. Warren, Steve's brand new employer, bought it.  He had tried to rent the apartments in it, but no tenant would stay for more than two nights.

"Walk me through this," Bucky said once they stood outside the place. The building didn't look special. Certainly not better than the others on the same street. Observation that, to be honest, wasn't making it any favors. It explained the low rent a little better, though. "To hear noises during the night is one thing. _ I _ hear noises during the night in _ our _ building, but I'm also a grown up who knows those are the pipelines and maybe some vermin. Point is: who got the idea that someone spending three nights in a row there will fix everything?"

  
  


"I saw it in my mirror, young man," said someone behind them. It was the famous Mr. Warren, a man who looked perfectly normal. Except maybe because his clothes were of a better quality than those of most everyone Bucky knew. "Is your friend staying with you, Steve? Good. It's just common sense. Please, come in and I'll explain."

Mr. Warren led them to his office, which was located on the ground floor, right next to the stairs that led up. The lobby also seemed as normal as any other Bucky had stayed in, and the same could be said about the office.

The man made them sit in front of a small desk after they all had properly introduced themselves while he looked for the keys to the apartment he had promised Steve for the night.

"As I had told Steve, I saw the message written in a mirror. That one over there." He pointed to his right, to a small, round mirror that, again, had nothing out of the ordinary. "After seeing so many people fleeing in terror and threatening to call the press, I decided to give it a try." He stared at the distance and went pale as he recollected the incident. "I could only stand one night. In the end, I took a refuge here, and it was then that the message appeared. 'Stay,' it said. 'Three nights and it'll be over.'" He shuddered. "I admit it; it was too much for me. I ran too." He made a pause and placed the keys on the desk, which had been rattling since his hand was trembling. "Anyway, I was talking on a payphone to my lawyer when Steve overheard me and offered to help!"

"I can believe that." Somehow, to learn that Steve had volunteered for this after eavesdropping on a stranger was no surprise at all.

Mr. Warren wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that then he returned to his pocket. "I'll pay you too, of course, Mr. Barnes." He made a pause in which he lowered his head and looked at them with shifty eyes and sighed. Terrible signs, all of them. "I only need you to understand that, given the circumstances, I'm tight on money. I'm forced to cut corners wherever I can, see? I need to cut electricity in the entire building. Except for apartment 305, where you'll be staying." He smiled in a way that pretended to be an apology, but in reality he had only bared his teeth by pulling back his teeth.

Bucky thought difficult to decide which part of the past two minutes he found the most unnerving. However, before he could say anything, Steve jumped to agree, making Bucky ever so happy to have brought a flashlight.

"Fine. It's not like we're going to leave it."

Mr. Warren relaxed his face again. "Excellent. Thank you for understanding. You can't even understand how grateful I am." He pushed the keys toward them again. "Your apartment is on the third floor. Just follow the numbers."

They had all stood up to shake hands and say goodbyes when Mr. Warren spoke again. "Oh, by the way. I have urgent business outside the city. But I'll be back in time to get you your money."

Bucky fought the urge of making any kind of sarcastic comment and instead he followed Steve, who had taken the keys and was on his way out.

"Steve, are we sure this is not a criminal den?"

Steve climbed the stairs with firm strides and didn't stop as he answered, in perfect deadpan, "Reasonably."

"Well, that's comforting," Bucky muttered.

"It's all about people letting their imaginations run wild at night."

"Let's hope," was the last thing Bucky said before they reached the third floor.

 

* * *

 

Bucky checked the structure the best he could while Steve took their luggage to apartment 305. He went back and forth for a while. His footsteps caused minimal creaking and he didn't hear any rats when he pressed his ear against the wall. Steve had been right: the place was objectively in decent conditions. Maybe things were different at night. They'd have to wait to find out.

Having finished his preliminary inspection and believing they were in control of an empty building, Bucky decided it was time to start the discussion on which of the canned soups they would be having for dinner.

The apartment was small and cozy. It had a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. It was furnished and dusty. Well, cleaning would give him something to do.

"Since you decided to take so long, I went ahead and chose my room," Steve called.

"It's fine. They're the same anyway," Bucky replied as he followed Steve's voice.

"You can believe that if it makes you feel better," Steve continued as he hung his shirts in the closet.

Bucky was about to answer when he noticed the notebook on the bedside table. The title, in big and odd-shaped letters, said, _ Haunted Buildings of New York _ , and the cover presented a dramatic drawing of an apartment building similar to the one they were in. Blood oozed from one of the windows of the third floor and a shadowy figure had cornered a woman on the fifth. "The hell is this?"

"It's what I'm reading tonight."

"Didn't you just say that all of this is about people who let their imaginations run wild?"

Steve shrugged. "I saw it this morning in the bookstore and I couldn't resist. Besides, I can separate fiction from reality, thank you."

Bucky sighed and put the notebook back on the bedside table. "Suit yourself.  If you have nightmares it'll be your own fault."

Steve snickered and sat down next to Bucky. "I wasn't sure you'd be coming, so I needed something to distract myself with."

"I wasn't going to let you come alone."

"It's going to be fine." Steve bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s—or the next best thing, with the height difference. "We'll literally sleep our way through this."

Bucky raised his hands in defeat. Despite his teasing, chances were that it would be that easy, anyway. In any case, they would find out first hand soon enough.

On the plus side, though, they didn't have to find out on an empty stomach.

 

* * *

 

They decided on asparagus soup, and Steve insisted on preparing dinner even if it was something as simple as heating the contents of a can. As usual, he got his way.  Meanwhile, Bucky turned the radio on and went to unpack—and make sure that the rooms were indeed the same. He had been correct about that.  Both faced the street, had a couple of windows without curtains—not a problem since they were on the second floor anyway. The beds had only the mattress on them and the weather was cool. However, a blanket should be enough for them to have a good night. And, speaking of, now that Steve was distracted with the food, it was the perfect moment to do something Bucky had been wanting to do for a while now.

Faking innocence, Bucky strolled into the kitchen. "Hey, Steve. I just remembered. Did you bring a blanket?"

Steve reacted the way Bucky wanted. Startled, he froze and he would've gasped if he didn't think it was undignified.

"It's fine," Bucky continued, all matter-of-fact. "I got two."

To demonstrate, the placed the extra blanket on the table, close to the stove so Steve could see it.

"Yes. Fine. Thanks," Steve muttered in the end.

"Wow. A thanks and all," Bucky began, and he would have made more jokes at Steve's expense, but he heard a loud noise down the hall. More like a thud. "Did you hear it? What was that?"

"The pipes, probably. Or a rat."

"We should go make sure," Bucky said.

"Alright," Steve said. He turned off the stove and began to walk toward the door.

Bucky beat him to it. The corridor outside wouldn't be pitch black—yet—but whatever little light was left would let them see only shapes and shadows, which wouldn't be helpful at all. So he picked up his flashlight. Between this and the blanket, he had provided enough common sense to earn his pie this evening.

As he shed light on the hall, Steve took a peek from under Bucky's arm, something he would've never done around anyone else. Steve hated everything that showcased how short he was, or that forced him to present himself as vulnerable. Even around Bucky, his best friend from childhood, he kept trying his hardest to avoid it. The most reason to cherish whenever he did these kinds of things. This gesture meant Steve wasn't thinking about being mocked. It meant trust.

"Hello!" Steve yelled to the hall, startling Bucky. "Is anyone there? We mean no harm!"

Not thinking had been right, then.

" _ Steve, _ " Bucky said. "If there was anyone there, you scared him."

" _ If _ there was anyone there. Besides, it's not like the radio won't give us away to whoever comes up the stairs. Anyone would've been scared long before I called."

"Unless it's a hardened criminal."

"A hardened criminal would've still been there." Steve pointed at the end of the hall. "Or over there." Now he pointed at the other.

Bucky followed his movements with a quick movement of his flashlight. Both ends of the hall were empty, so Bucky turned the flashlight again but now directly to Steve's smug face.

Steve did blink, but he didn't stop looking smug either. "I told you. There's nothing there."

For now, Bucky thought, turning off the flashlight. "Let's go back inside and lock the door," he said instead.

"We can put the bookshelf against it too," Steve began as he returned to the apartment. But before Bucky could even think of an appropriate quip to toss back at him, Steve exclaimed, "No! Buck, don't lock the door! Bring water!" And then, he ran inside.

"What is it?" Bucky exclaimed back as he followed.

He didn't have to wait long for the answer.

Their dinner and half the stove were being consumed by a roaring fire. A roaring fire that Steve was trying to put out with the closest thing at hand: Bucky's blanket. But that wasn't important. Bucky ran to the bathroom to get that water. Moments later, he poured a bucket over the stove, splashing the both of them, ruining their dinner further, but also suffocating the fire.

"I turned it off," Steve said. He held the blanket in front of his face, examining the holes. "I'm sorry about this."

"I know you did! I saw you!" Bucky replied. "And it's fine. It's preferable to being burned alive."

"We're out of a warm meal too. I don't trust that thing anymore."

"Me neither," Bucky replied as he checked the back of the stove to cut off the gas. "On the plus side, though, I brought bread and cheese besides that pie I told you about."

"You can keep the pie, having fulfilled your part of the bargain and all," Steve said, sounding too serious and stilted.

Bucky threw a rag at his face. "Don't be stupid, Rogers. Get here and help me clean this mess. Earn your pie."

About half an hour later, they also had their dinner cold.

"Faulty gas installations are easy to fix. So that's not the problem," Steve said.

"I checked the windows. Everything was closed and we were standing right at the door. No one could've gotten in without us noticing it."

"It was an accident. Accidents happen." However, Steve sounded as if he wanted to convince himself.

"I guess," Bucky said. "Since we'll be eating sandwiches the next few days, we'll have to go buy more bread. That's not cheating, right?"

"No. The wording was specific: we only have to spend the nights here."

"Good. Then I say we call it a day and go to bed."

Steve nodded and reached out for the tattered blanket.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. That blanket would not be good for him now, and there wasn't anything else he could use to cover himself with. It wouldn't be good for anyone if Steve woke up running a fever. Bucky, on the other hand, was stronger and in better health. Therefore, he did what he had to do: offer a limb to the mercy of the claws of the hissy cat Steve could sometimes be.

"You can have mine."

Steve frowned. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. It's going to be freezing in there."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine."

"Which means I won't."

"Steve… " Here was the tricky part. No matter what he said next, Steve would be offended. It was just a matter to find the phrase that would do it the least.

However, Steve himself saved him from that.

"Bucky, you're only here because I wanted to come. If it weren't for you, we would've gone to bed hungry or even burned to death. I only managed to burn your spare blanket. I can't take the other one on top of that." He made a pause to sigh. "Let's share it."

"What?"

"Let's share it," Steve repeated. "Like when we were kids and slept on each other's beds, remember?"

Bucky nodded. He remembered. In many occasions, they had shared the bed back when they were little. Before he developed feelings for Steve. Now, though, he didn't know if he could resist doing it again. Yet, Steve was right in front of him, with that determined look that meant he wouldn't give in an inch. Not even in a matter as trivial as this one.

In short, there was no way around it; if Bucky wanted Steve to spend the night warm and cozy and not to catch a cold, he had no choice but to agree to share the bed and the blanket.

"Fine," Bucky replied.

"It's settled then," Steve said, grinning, and Bucky's heart skipped a beat.

Yes, it was settled that Bucky would not sleep well that night and ghosts would have nothing to do with that.

 

Bucky didn't know how much he had wanted to see a smiling Steve waiting for him in bed until it happened. The actual sight did a number on his heart and in his… _ everything. _ It absolutely did a number on Bucky's everything.

"Buck, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he whispered but there was a frog in his throat, which he cleared. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking about the fire." Okay, that was a lie, but he hoped it wouldn't be an obvious one.

He was lucky this once.

"I know what can distract you from that," Steve said.

Bucky had no idea of what Steve was thinking, but he knew it wasn't what he yearned for. "What is it?" he asked, finally taking off his shoes and sliding into the bed before any remark of what was taking him so long. He kept a distance between them, though.

Steve closed that distance, pressing his shoulder against Bucky's to show him the illustrations in his notebook. They aimed to be disturbing, but they were too over the top, so they came out as funny instead. Besides, they had to compete for Bucky's attention with the enthusiastic guy showing them. They never had a chance.

"See this one?" Steve was saying. "It's about someone who kept frozen heads in their basement."

"Why would anyone do that?"

"Let's find out!" He then proceeded to read the entire article out loud. He even did the voices.

Bucky took it as an excuse to lie down and stare at the ceiling instead of at Steve's lips. That and the gruesomeness of the story worked their magic. Soon enough, his body was back under control. Then again, maybe said magic was too strong, because at some point he found himself jumping at every little noise around them.

Steve frowned. "Want me to stop?"

"No. It's fine."

Steve sighed and put the book on the bedside table. "I'm tired anyway. Time will go faster if we're sleeping," he added, lying down on the bed, his head resting on the pillow next to Bucky's.

Bucky agreed to that and he closed his eyes.

Of course, it would have been easier if Steve hadn't rolled to cuddle against him five minutes after he fell asleep. It was not something new; he used to do that as well when they were kids. Looking for warmth, most likely. But they weren't kids anymore, even if Steve didn't seem to find it relevant. Maybe it shouldn't be. But things were as they were and it wasn't Steve's fault. It was Bucky's. Therefore, he should stop complaining and just go to sleep. Or at least let Steve sleep.

Or maybe he should start by talking himself out of thinking that passing his arm around Steve's shoulders was a good idea, if only because there were few other places to put his arm, and the others he could think of were too uncomfortable.

As he debated with himself, however, he heard steps. Honest-to-God footsteps outside. He wanted to think it had been his imagination at first. But when they repeated, again and again, and it was clear those sounds came from a solid body with solid shoes. In the end, his arm did go around Steve's shoulders, but with a good reason: to wake him up.

"Steve?" Bucky whispered as he shook him. "Steve!"

Steve babbled something and Bucky shushed him.

"Listen!" he murmured.

Steve did listen. He blinked and sat up. "Steps?" he mumbled.

Bucky sighed inwardly in relief—it hadn't been his imagination. But the feeling passed quickly to be replaced by distress when he realized the implications.

The steps grew louder and louder, and soon Steve was wide awake and putting on his boots. "Let's go check it out," he said.

Steve's actions and words caused  a mix of feelings in Bucky, none of them positive. On the one hand, he instantly missed the sudden lack of warmth and closeness. On the other, whoever was outside might as well be a murderer and pointing it out would not dissuade Steve. To be honest, chances were that it'd make his determination worse. Yet, it was preferable to face this menace outside of bed for more than one reason.

Therefore, sighing, Bucky got up and reached for his shoes. "Just keep your voice down this time, okay?"

Steve gave him a thumbs up and started walking outside. Bucky followed him, grabbing his flashlight.

"Do you have another one of those?" Steve whispered.

"No, sorry. Why don't you carry this one?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Bucky replied. Steve doing so  would free his hands in case they had to fight. Being realistic, he was better at a hand-to-hand combat—plus, it'd give Steve a blunt object to hit their hypothetical attacker with. A nice win-win scenario. But instead of all of that, he said, "It makes more sense you have it, since you're going ahead."

"Alright," Steve replied as he took it.

Good. A victory, even if small, was still a victory.

Thus, with Steve in front and calling the shots—as usual—, they went into the hall. It was empty. And quiet now. Everything looked normal. Dark and spooky but normal.

"There are plenty of places to hide in. I'd rather not risk it," Steve said.

"Read my mind," Bucky replied despite himself.

They continued their exploration. In silence, with Steve honoring his word of not calling unnecessary attention to them.

At one point, they turned right and lost track of where they were. They turned left and then right again and then two rights and three lefts, but they kept passing by the same flower vase every three minutes. Steve had even left a pencil next to it. One with bite marks, so it'd be impossible to fake. It was there every time.

"This is getting spooky," Steve commented.

"Just now?"

Steve didn't dignify that with an answer, but he folded his arms and lowered his head to think.

The familiarity of the scene helped Bucky relax and focus. He took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. Except it wasn't a wall. It was a door. A half-open door, so he fell backwards, right into the room.

"Bucky! Are you okay?" Steve started to ask when the door closed itself between them.

Unharmed, Bucky got up and tried to open it, but to no avail. He could only rattle the knob, but it wouldn't move.

"Steve? Are you there?"

"Yes! The door doesn't open!" Steve yelled back, kicking the door in frustration. He was going to hurt himself.

"Steve! Steve, stop. Listen, you have the flashlight. Maybe you can find the key downstairs. Or a crowbar. There has to be one somewhere."

"Will you be alright?"

"Yes. Don't worry. It's only me and the couches in here." As far as he could tell, anyway. Since all the apartments were advertised as being furnished, it wasn't an entire lie.

In any case, it worked.

"Okay," Steve said from the other side. "I'll go get something. I'll get you out of there."

With that, he left muttering obscenities against whoever was responsible, corporeal or not. Worse yet, Bucky did believe him capable of looking for an ass to kick. It wouldn't matter if it belonged to a ghost or not. He could only hope Steve wouldn't find it before Bucky was there to back him up.

Steve's footsteps and curses faded away in the distance. Bucky gave himself a moment to breathe. Or tried to. He was supposed to think about ways to get out of there but, alone in the dark, his mind kept coming back to the reason he ended up trapped in that place.

Why in the world did Steve have to be so magnetic? He had an air of self-righteousness and a strong desire to do good no matter how difficult it was for him. Or maybe he did because it was so difficult. If he could only stop being so stubborn and bitter all the time—if he smiled more and more often—he could have had hordes of admirers. Part of Bucky enjoyed being the only one privy to this side of Steve, though, and this part was in conflict with the one that told him that Steve deserved better.

At some point, he didn't remember when, Steve and his well-being became his responsibility, and now he was outside all alone—or not, which was worse—, and about to get into trouble because that was what he always ended up doing. All while Bucky was here locked up and not there for him out there, like he should be.

Like he needed to be.

He had to try again. Out of desperation, he reached out for the knob and turned it.

It worked. This time it worked. The door opened and Bucky stepped into the corridor again. Darkness didn't leave, but hope made a miraculous return.

 

* * *

 

A couple of minutes later, Bucky's hope found itself struggling to survive. Neither Steve nor the flashlight were in sight. Bucky moved dragging his feet, a hand pressed against the wall and the other in front of him. He had a worse idea of where he was than he expected when he set out to do this.

He should have stayed put and wait for Steve to come back, but now he wasn't even sure he'd be able to find his way back to that other apartment. Counting the doors he felt as he walked didn't work; he had lost count after the fiftieth. He wasn't even sure there were that many apartments in the entire building, and he couldn't find the stairs.

He didn't want to believe it, because it was not logical, but his mind kept going back to the idea that he was going in circles. That, somehow, that floor had transformed into a closed loop that he would never be able to escape.

But the darkness wasn't the only problem. The silence was terrible too. By then, it was hard to keep the worst thoughts at bay. Bucky could hear his own heart beating in his chest. His own breathing was as loud as a car engine.  He _knew_ that, if someone else were around him, he would be able to hear their heartbeat and their breathing just as clearly.

He also knew that in any moment he was going to trip on something and that something would be a body and that body would be Steve's. And then they would remain in the darkness forever. No matter how many times he shook his head  or how many slow breaths he took, he could not get rid of the idea. To make things worse, Bucky’s imagination kept showing him Steve more and more terribly mangled every time the image came back.

He wouldn't be able to stand this situation for much longer before succumbing to panic. He didn't know it was possible to feel so lonely in the middle of New York.

He closed his eyes. It was hard to tell in such darkness, but he made sure by dropping down his eyelids with his hands. This little action made him feel back in control, if only a little. Now, he couldn't see anything because he didn't want to, not because circumstances forced him to.

"It'll be fine. I'll be fine. We'll be fine." Despite being whisper, his voice resounded all around him as if he had yelled those words instead. This made him feel more nervous about the next step in his plan, which was to actually yell Steve's name, hoping he would answer. But he would have to do it. Steve would have done it. Steve's answer to feeling nervous or scared was to get angry and push harder against whoever—or whatever—made him feel like that. Bucky decided he should try it. He should follow his example. So he drew breath and got ready.

However, he didn't get to yell. From behind him, he heard Steve's voice calling _ his _ name several times and quickly approaching.

"Steve?" As a reflex, Bucky turned around and opened his eyes. To his greatest relief, this time he saw the flashlight coming to him held by an agitated Steve. An agitated Steve who was running toward him.

Steve alive. Steve breathing. Steve about to have an attack if he kept up that pace.

"Buck, you made it out of the room! Are you okay?"

"Yes, but you shouldn't be running like that. You know it."

Steve pouted but that was fine. Bucky didn't have the intention of telling him what he had just gone through, and scolding him helped him focus.

"That's not important!" Steve exclaimed with such force that a soft whistling joined the end of the phrase, a clear sign that he absolutely should calm down and that he would absolutely ignore. The next best thing was to let him say whatever he had to say and then react accordingly. "You won't believe what happened to me."

Bucky frowned. "What?" He hoped that whatever it was, it hadn't been as bad as what had happened to him.

"I got a message from the ghost. I know exactly what we should do now."


	2. Chapter 2

"A message _ from _ the _ ghost _ ?" Bucky asked, both eyebrows raised. "How?" He had meant to ask 'how is that even possible?' followed by ’ghosts don't even exist,’ at first, but he figured this would work just as well.

"In a mirror. I was looking for the key or a crowbar, like you asked, so I went to Mr. Warren's office. While I was there, the mirror became foggy and letters began to appear on it. It said: 'Steve, under the desk. Help us.' So I went back there and checked. Guess what I found!"

Bucky groaned inwardly. If he had been explicitly named, it would be even more difficult to convince him to get out of there, not even if he told him about how he got lost in the darkness. Just his luck.  "A note that said that it was all a prank and we can go home now?" he offered, hoping against hope.

"Nothing," Steve continued. "Nothing at first. But I knocked on the wood and found a loose board." He stopped to look at Bucky, who picked up his cue.

"What was under the board?" Bucky asked despite himself.

Steve pressed an old notebook against Bucky's chest. "This. It's a diary. I skimmed it and it's even worse than the _ Haunted Buildings _ book."

Bucky grabbed it and quickly leafed through it. With the help of Steve and the flashlight, he saw how the neat handwriting at the beginning became more and more distorted as he passed the pages, until it became nearly unreadable at the end. He shivered, closed it, and gave it back.

"Can we do this where there's actual light?" he asked.

Steve shrugged and turned around. "Fine. Let's go back to the apartment. I'll fill you in as we go."

"No," Bucky replied as he put a hand on Steve's shoulder. He wouldn't let go of him this time. "Wait until there's actual light. Then we can discuss this. Not before."

Steve shrugged again. "As you wish."

With that, they started the way back to the apartment 305. This time around, they didn't have any trouble finding it.

 

* * *

 

"It was just my name in the mirror. You don't have to stay if you don't want to," Steve said once they were back in the apartment, sitting on the table after locking up the door. There were no signs of another fire, which both of them chose to believe was a good sign.

Steve's words stung. Yes, Bucky had been through a horrifying experience that he still didn't intend to talk about, but that was precisely the reason he would not leave Steve alone. Because—and now it was clearer than ever—Steve himself would not leave this place. Not unless he was bound and gagged and even then chances were he would find a way to come back. He was good at that kind of thing. Besides, it would be a deep betrayal and then Bucky would be on the receiving end of a cold shoulder treatment that might last years.

"I'm not leaving. We both know I'm not leaving, so you really should stop saying that," Bucky said.

"I don't want you to feel pressured to stay because I want to finish with this, that's all."

"Can we focus on that notebook you found?"

Steve nodded and went straight to the point. "There was a murder in this place. A young woman named Ada Mathewson, was planning to elope. Her father didn't like it, so he killed her and buried her in the basement. Then, he hung himself. The reasons weren't clear, but probably out of guilt. However, even then he wouldn't let her go. Her spirit is trapped here. He belonged to a sect of the occult and he made some kind of pact to make sure of it. But if anyone spends three nights in a row here, it can be broken. During the third night, her burial place reveals itself. The coffin can be dug out and opened, which would free Ada's spirit. That's why he haunts the building and scares everybody. " He tapped the notebook. "It's all in here. This diary belongs to Ada's lover, Veronica Thomas. It gets all the way to the second night, so I assume that's when Mr. Mathewson's ghost got her. Besides, it's the same handwriting here than in the mirror."

"Veronica?"

Steve shrugged to mean that such a detail was irrelevant to the current circumstances.

Perhaps it was.

Bucky grabbed the notebook and leafed through it again. "How do we know this is true and not a prank of bad taste by someone with a lot of free time and access to a bunch of mirrors and wood panels?"

"We don't. We can only stay and see what happens."

"Well, that's encouraging."

"Bucky, as I said—"

"Shut it, Rogers. I'm staying."

Steve sighed and nodded. "Good. Thanks." He looked through the window. "There's still a couple of hours before sunrise. We should try to sleep. We'll regroup tomorrow and get more supplies."

"Fine. I will insist on something, though: we turn on the lights tonight. I don't care what Mr. Warren says."

"It wasn't my favorite part either. I don't think we should tell him, though; guy was nervous enough as it is." That settled, Steve yawned and stretched. Then, he grabbed Bucky's sleeve and tugged it. "Let's go back to bed; there's nothing else we can do right now."

Right. They were sharing the bed. Bucky had managed to forget about it somehow. But now it was time to go back to it and suffer. Still a better alternative to the waking nightmare of the dark hall. Yes, Steve cuddling up against him and all.

In the end, he did fall asleep. They both did. They were that tired—and they were lucky enough that nothing else happened before the sun was out.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight came through the window when Bucky opened his eyes. He didn't recognize the ceiling and was disoriented until he heard Steve's voice.

"For a moment I thought it was all a dream."

He was already dressed up and was reading the notebook again.

"Wish we were that lucky," Bucky replied, sitting up. He then reached for his boots. He hadn't taken off anything else, just in case. "So, plan for tonight?"

"We don't get separated and we don't get lost. Although maybe we should stay in the apartment and deal with things in here."

"In other words, bring a fire extinguisher."

Steve laughed. "Good thinking." He grabbed a pen and opened the last pages of the ghostly diary and began to write. "So food, rope, check for an extinguisher…"

Bucky winced. "Steve, don't do that!"

"What? No one else is going to use it, and there's a lot of empty space here."

"It's a dead woman's diary! Have some respect!"

"I do respect her!  She seems so determined. She hasn't stopped trying to free the one she loves." He stared down at the notebook for a moment. "I know I wouldn't either. I would keep trying, even from the afterlife."

Bucky sighed. Steve's speeches always managed to move him. Enough for him to try to divert his attention. "Yet you won't stop using it."

"It belongs to the good ghost who needs our help. This list I'm making will get us to that goal. On the other hand, if it is a prank, as you thought, then I'm ruining it and that's good too."

Bucky rubbed his face. It was too early for Steve's logic and he was hungry. "Since we can go out, I propose we go back home for a decent breakfast."

"Works for me," Steve said. He put the notebook in his pocket and followed Bucky to the outside world.

  
  


* * *

 

Bucky would have wanted to postpone their return to the damn building for as long as possible, but he wanted to inspect it again, and they needed to turn the power on. They managed with relatively little effort, but they didn't find any evidence of sliding panels or passages or even disguised doors that would have let anyone believe they were trapped in a never ending corridor. Their best bet truly was to remain inside the apartment that night.

Later, as sunset approached and they were sitting in the living room, Steve's foot relentlessly tapped the floor as its owner frowned at the clock on the wall.

"The clock won't make time pass more quickly if you glare at it, Steve," Bucky said.

Steve scoffed. "There's something I have to do and I can't do it. It's annoying."

_ What you are is impatient, _ Bucky thought. "Find something to distract yourself with."

In answer, Steve took out the notebook again. "We can go over this again." He opened and read. "Manifestations will grow worse tonight and tomorrow."

"So last night was our easy night."

"Seems so. Besides, the worst happened when we were outside. Inside the apartment, we only heard footsteps. We need to remain together no matter what. We have a concrete plan too. We're better than yesterday."

"Therefore, we are completely safe and everything will be fine."

Playfully, Steve punched Bucky's shoulder. "The one who risks nothing earns nothing."

"Then why aren't you Rockefeller?"

"There are things more important than money. Those are the victories I aim for."

"You're counting 'I wasn't killed today' as a victory, right?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Bucky made a pause as he pretended to think about it. "I think that's more like not losing."

"From my point of view, it's more than that. Specially with you by my side."

That was the kind of thing that Steve should stop saying and that, at the same time, Bucky wanted him to keep saying.

"We'll be fine," Steve said in a soft voice, mercifully misinterpreting Bucky's face.

"I know, I know."

Steve got up to turn on the radio. "We both need something to distract ourselves with. Let's see what's on."

_ The Green Hornet _ was on. Narration told them that the heroes were working to figure out a very mundane case that involved very human and very living criminals. Good. That did help to keep Bucky and Steve's minds away from this mess.

At first.

Five minutes into the serial, static began. Bucky didn't give it importance. That was normal enough—and it remained being normal enough until it wasn't. At some point, it was like someone whispered their names through the static. Or that the static itself was doing it.

"Did you hear that?" Steve whispered.

"I did. Wish I hadn't," Bucky replied.

It happened again. Steve stood up and turned off the radio. It didn't work. The noise kept going. So Steve cut to the chase and unplugged the thing. That worked.

"Well, that was creepy," Steve said.

"I wanted to know what's gonna happen with Kato," Bucky said.

"He'll be fine. They can't kill him; he's a popular character," Steve began when the radio turned itself back up and let out a loud hiss that soon became a shriek.

" _ LEAVE! NOW! GO AWAY! YOU'RE NOT WANTED HERE! _ " yelled a furious male voice.

Bucky jumped up so fast he nearly fell from his chair.

Steve jumped between Bucky and the radio. "We won't leave!" he exclaimed. "We'll stay! We'll put an end to this!"

"Steve, stop yelling at the possessed radio!"

"I won't let it scare me, Buck! It's just a bully! A supernatural one, but a bully nonetheless."

If Bucky hadn't been already certain that Steve wasn't going to give in an inch before, this would have done it. Steve hated bullies more than anything else. Then again, bullies had the tendency to want to cause him serious harm. Why would this situation be any different?

"Steve…"

"Bucky, it's fine if you want to leave, but I already made up my mind."

"When don't you…" Bucky mumbled, sitting down on the couch.

The way Steve kept dismissing him should make him feel angry, but he was so tired of hearing the same thing again and again he didn't know how to react anymore.

Steve sat down next to him. "I mean it. I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

"Of course. Because I don't care what happens to you." That came out more bitter than Bucky intended, but definitely less bitter than he felt.

Steve kept quiet for a moment before leaning against Bucky's shoulder. "I know you worry. But I want to help. I rarely have this kind of chance."

Oh, no. That wasn't fair. Steve being honest and admitting he couldn't do everything. That was cheating.

"It's not that. It's—Why are you so convinced I would leave you alone?"

"I—No. I'm convinced you wouldn't. But it's obvious this situation makes you more nervous than me. I just want to spare you the trouble."

Unable to help it, Bucky started to laugh. "Nervous? You'd be nervous too if—" _ if you had gotten lost in the dark like I did _ . But he had promised himself not to mention it, so he went with the next best thing. "Do you think I'd be less nervous if I leave you all alone in here after last night?"

Steve sat back and stared at Bucky for a long moment with those big and deep blue eyes of his. Bucky couldn't stand it for long, so he looked down, and his own eyes settled on Steve's hand. For a moment, he thought he saw it moving, about to grab Bucky's hand, but in the end it didn't. It was hard for Bucky not to feel disappointed for something that may or may not have happened.

However, before any of them could say anything else, someone knocked on the door, loudly and repeatedly, as if that someone were trying to break it, making the both of them jump. Steve placed himself between Bucky and the door and, before Bucky could react to that, he felt Steve's hand reaching out to grab his.

"We're staying here!" Steve yelled. "Tonight and tomorrow! You won't get rid of us that easily! Come on, just try your worst!"

As Steve spoke, to distract Bucky from his mixed of feelings of warmth and anxiousness and his wanting to tell Steve to keep it down, all the windows in the apartment exploded inwardly. The shards, all of different sizes but all of them just as sharp, flew toward them. Bucky pushed Steve to the floor at the same time he felt him grabbing his shirt to pull him down. Not for the first time, Bucky was glad to be bigger and stronger; he prevailed and soon they were both on the ground, with him curled up on top of Steve.

"Bucky?" the latter asked after a moment, when the only noise belong to the wind coming in from the shattered windows.

"I'm fine," Bucky replied as a reflex. He felt fine, at least. He just hoped this would not be one of those time when you felt the wounds later on. With a slow movement, he broke apart from Steve. Slowly, so the shards on his back wouldn't fall on the man underneath him.

However, Steve held fistfuls of Bucky's shirt and didn't seem to have the intention of letting go. His eyes were fixed on Bucky's face, and his mouth was half open.

Bucky sat back immediately, putting as much distance between them as if being close to Steve burned him—which, in a way, it did.

"You're not hurt?" he managed to babble. He took of his jacket to dust of the glass shards as far away from Steve as possible, grateful for the excuse.

"I'm not," Steve replied, standing up. He wasn't bleeding, which was good. On the other, he looked angry. "We need to cover those windows with something."

"That won't be enough," Bucky said, glad to have a concrete problem to deal with. "It'll be too cold. We better move to another apartment. Lights are on this once anyway."

"That's giving in, Buck," Steve said. "It's what he wants."

He was past reason at this point, but Bucky had to try anyway.

"The rule is to stay _ inside _ the building," he said. "We're doing that, only in a spot where we won't freeze our asses."

"Let's check the other bedroom. We can use that one if it's not too bad."

It turned out Steve was right. Only one window in the other room was partially broken and the hole was small enough for them to fix with newspaper. Even if Bucky remained unconvinced that it would be enough.

"I guess we're sharing the beds again," Steve said.

"We can drag the one in the other room here," Bucky offered.

Steve agreed to that, so Bucky started his way out of the room while the first rummaged in his backpack for the things they would need for the night.

"Uh… Bucky, I forgot the other blanket at home. We still have only one."

Bucky stopped and winced. "Of course we do."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. It's… fine."

But it wasn't. It wasn't all.

 

* * *

 

Between the radio, the windows, and Steve cuddling, it was difficult for Bucky to fall asleep. Despite their best efforts, they couldn't stop the wind completely. It whistled from time to time in short, cold gushes. So cold, and Steve kept pressing himself against Bucky looking for warmth.

Ever since Bucky remembered, Steve's lungs had always been on the verge of collapsing. Steve didn't help,  either. He kept doing things that pushed toward it and sometimes took him over the limit. In the end, there was only one logical choice for Bucky: he would curl himself around Steve. Because it would keep him from dying. Yes.

Steve felt it, though. "Mmm?" he mumbled, half asleep.

"It's cold, Steve," Bucky replied, glad it was the truth.

"Noticed."

"Good. Go back to sleep."

Steve went, "Mmm," again and that was it. He fell asleep again.

Bucky relaxed further. This was so nice, to have Steve in his arms, resting and calm. Wanting to be there. Fine with being there. So nice. So, so nice.

Of course it wasn't going to last.

He was finally falling asleep when the bed began to levitate.

"What the—?" Bucky exclaimed, sitting up.

"What's going on?" Steve exclaimed as well, now fully awake.

"I'm not dreaming this, right?"

"You mean the floating bed? No, you're not."

"Let's get down," Bucky began, but before they could move, the bed began shaking.

The bed shook fast and strongly, as if it was trying to throw them off. It or whoever had taken over it.

With one hand, Bucky kept a hold of the sheets and the mattress and, with the other, he kept a hold of Steve. The latter, miraculously, didn't protest.

"We need to get down, Bucky!" he said, instead.

"I'll jump first! Then I'll help you."

Steve tensed further. He had hated that, just like he hated any remark—any reminder—about how helpless he could be. But he endured it this time. Good, because Bucky would have done it regardless.

"Fine," Steve said through gritted teeth. "Go."

The way the bed moved didn't make it easy for Bucky to go straight to it. Instead, moving carefully and slowly, he sat on the edge and looked down. He had jumped from higher places before, this shouldn't be a problem. So he did it. He landed on his feet and then turned around, his arms open to catch Steve.

"Come on!" he said.

But Steve didn't move. He was frozen in place, looking down at him. There it was too, that intense look in his eyes again.

_ Dammit, Steve. _

"Steve, you won't be giving in to the ghost if you get down from the possessed bed!"

"It's not—" he began, but his thought was cut by the fact that the bed stopped moving. As soon as it did, it dropped to the floor, forcing Steve to throw himself to Bucky's arms.

Bucky caught him—and then he put him down immediately, under the excuse of having to regain balance.

Meanwhile, the bed was now on the floor again, but this time broken and useless. It had been a nasty drop.

"I guess we are apartment hunting in the end," Steve said.

"I guess," Bucky repeated. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Steve replied after a moment, still staring at the bed. "You?"

"Well enough."

"I'll get my stuff," Steve said, avoiding looking at Bucky as he did so.

_ It's because the ghost is forcing us to do as he wants. That's all _ , Bucky thought.

They decided to move to the next apartment down the hall, to avoid being outside for longer than strictly necessary. Good intentions that lasted only until they were actually in the corridor, and Steve saw a human-looking shadow standing at the end of the hall. It looked like a tall, broad-chested man.

"Hey, you! Come here!" Steve exclaimed, dropping his backpack and dashing right toward the figure.

"No! Steve! Come back!" Panicking, Bucky dropped everything as well and ran.

The lights were on this time, so Bucky could see where he was going. Besides, he was faster than Steve, so he caught up to him quickly. However, this happened at the same time they reached the stranger, but instead of crashing against him, they went right through him. The stranger disappeared surrounded by a blue shimmer.

Steve tripped on the carpet and the surprise made Bucky lose his balance, so they both ended up on the floor again. Just like before, Steve ended up underneath Bucky, digging his fingers in Bucky's forearm. Bucky didn't mind this time. He had other things to worry about.

"He was there," Bucky whispered. "He was there, I saw him."

He felt Steve's hand pressing his shoulder now. "We won't let him scare us."

"Of—of course not."

They remained there for a moment longer. Bucky had many reasons not to want to move, and Steve was not pushing him away. This was more comfortable than it had the right to be, even factoring in the cold, hard floor.

Then, Steve coughed, which brought Bucky back to reality. He stood up and offered his hand. "Apartment hunting, remember?" he said.

Steve took Bucky's hand and stood up as well. "Yeah. We'd better."

Well, that had been something. Bucky felt shaken to the core for several reasons, of which he would only admit one. But it was fine. It was the one they had shared, and they also needed to talk about the floating bed. It would be fine. His secret, at least, would be fine.

 

Apartment 307 was exactly like 305, except that the beds and the windows were all in one piece. Great. Two bedrooms, two beds…

"We're still down to one blanket," Steve announced.

"I'm not sure I can sleep at all tonight," Bucky replied.

"Which means we can stay up figuring out this mess," Steve said. His voice made clear that he wouldn't rest if Bucky didn't either. He flopped down on the couch. "Do you still think mirrors are involved?"

Bucky sat down on the couch in front of Steve instead of next to him. He needed the space. "That's still on the table. However, I'm not so sure anymore."

"It's escalating because we're half-way through this, like the diary says. One more night, Buck. We can do this."

One more night and whatever else happened today.

"Yes, only that," he replied.

"Focus on the positive," Steve said.

"What? That we're not dead yet?"

"That and we now know he's not solid, so if he appears again, we can ignore him."

"It's something, I guess." Bucky rubbed his eyes. "We should try to sleep during the day tomorrow, though. If we're going to dig in the basement, we'll need it."

By _ we _ Bucky actually meant _ I _ , but Steve would've been offended. He would insist on helping anyway. And he would, and Bucky would let him for as long as Steve could endure the hard work.

Steve leaned back against the couch. "Sounds good to me. This'll be over tomorrow and we'll be sleeping in our own beds in two days. Easy as that."

"Are you that convinced that this is going to work or is the lack of sleep affecting you?"

"I'm convinced that this is going to work. You're not?"

"I'm concerned about the circumstances."

"Those with a will of iron create their own circumstances."

Bucky snorted. "Tell that to the ghost."

"The ghost does have an iron will, I can admit that."

"A battle of will against will, then."

"I always win those."

"You are, indeed, the most stubborn asshole I've ever met."

"That's how you love me."

"Yeah, that's true."

As soon as he said it, Bucky froze. Did he really say that? Had he just admitted it so casually? He looked at Steve from the corner of his eyes. He was still leaning against the couch, hands folded over his stomach and a smug smile on his face. His eyes were closed, so at least he was unable to see Bucky's face. Yes, he had said that. This is what sleep deprivation did to his brain. And Steve obviously had thought nothing of it, which was both a relief and a disappointment at the same time.

A long moment passed as Bucky adjusted himself to his reality. Too long, even, and silent. Steve wasn't good at staying silent for so long, so Bucky looked at him. He was fast asleep on the couch, in the same position as before, smile and all.

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve really felt that confident. He probably counted the lack of any fires tonight as a victory. Bucky himself had enough elements to believe this night to be, in the end, better than the one before: they hadn't been separated and none of them had gotten lost in the dark. Oh, and they were both in one piece and healthy. Something to be always thankful for with the way Steve jumped to the wolf's mouth head first.

But first things first, and since Bucky's main motivation to be here was to take care of Steve, he leaned down to grab his shoulder and shake it.

"Hey, if you're going to fall asleep, you better do it on the bed."

Steve took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "Oh. Yeah, right. But you're coming."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm right behind you."

Steve stood up and, to make sure Bucky really was behind him, he grabbed his sleeve and took him to the bed. He made sure to grab the damn blanket too. Fortunately, Bucky was already resigned to this, and there were worse fates than cuddling to keep warm.  Even if the one you were cuddling up to was the person you loved.

 

* * *

 

When Bucky opened his eyes, the sun was already up. It didn't seem to be too late but, regardless, after the night they had had, they deserved to get some sleep.

Then, with no warning whatsoever, Steve had the idea of turning around so his face was a couple of inches away from Bucky's. Once again, Bucky froze. That—that wasn't fair. So he turned around himself, giving Steve his own back now. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts. If Steve woke and found them so close he would have to explain what the fuss was all about.

Steve did wake up one or two minutes later. He yawned and stretched and Bucky could picture him rubbing his face.

"Morning," he murmured.

Bucky pretended to be asleep so Steve got up. Slowly and carefully, to avoid disturbing his bedmate.

Once Bucky heard him finishing getting dressed, he stirred.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"Hey," Steve replied. "What are we having for breakfast?"

"I slept well, thank you."

"Me too, but you're still cooking."

Bucky snorted and got up. "I don't even remember what we brought."

"It was a night, right? But I'd rather discuss it with a full stomach."

"Yeah, agreed."

Moments later, they were both in the kitchen. Everything seemed normal, just as they had left it. Bucky prepared scrambled eggs bacon while Steve sketched something in the accursed notebook.

"What are the chances of that being possessed bacon?"

"It'd better be zero and you should stop tempting your luck with that thing."

"I already told you: good ghost, and all of this we're going through gives me implicit permission."

"Besides, you're bored," Bucky said certain that it was the main reason.

Steve just couldn't stay still. Now that it was morning and they didn't have to dodge an angry bully of a ghost and were all rested, Steve needed something to do with his hands. This was why he became so good at drawing, actually. He had talent, but also time to work on it, with all the time he had been forced to stay in bed as a kid. Besides, it distracted him and made him happy, always a good change of pace with this guy. Yet, it would be wonderful if he could refrain from sketching in a possible haunted notebook in the same floor where a haunted bed tried to kill them just a few hours ago. That was all he wanted; Bucky was a man of simple needs.

"You know, we have enough material for a decent comic book here," Steve said.

"Sure, why not."

"You can be the handsome assistant."

"Assistant? Seriously?"

"It was either that or the love interest."

And it was good Bucky was busy getting the food on the dishes and giving Steve his back so he wouldn't see him grimace. "You'd better make good on your word with the handsome thing."

"I'll show you the sketches once I'm done with them for your approval."

Bucky placed the dishes on the table, one of them in front of Steve. He had found his smile again by then. "Hey, I'm not the artist."

Steve grinned. "You forfeit your right to complain?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "I don't trust that face."

Steve snorted. "Then model for me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I mean, I can draw you from memory, but if you want me to be as objective as possible…"

_ I can draw you from memory. _

The words lingered in Bucky's mind. That was new. Not that Steve drew him. He had done it several times from childhood. But he complained often about not being able to keep a bird or a dog still long enough to draw them properly, and he had seen thousands of birds and dogs in his life. Yet, he didn't need to see him to remember Bucky's face.

And it apparently took him too long to get his answer.

"You don't have to," Steve said, his face now closer to a pout than to a frown.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind. It just surprised me."

Steve smiled a small, shy smile. "Thanks."

Thankful for having forgotten the coffee, Bucky turned around to go get it. "No problem."

 

* * *

 

After breakfast, they checked the shovels. So far, so good. They hadn't been mysteriously broken nor had they spontaneously grown mold and rust, but it was early and the sun was still out there, and that night was supposed to be the worst one yet.

"So the plan for tonight is to go downstairs to the basement and wait for the signal of where the body is, right?" Bucky asked.

"Yep. The location is supposed to reveal itself after nightfall. Not sure yet how, though. Just that it'll happen."

"As long as it's not the corpse coming out on its own, I guess it'll be fine."

"We can hit it with the shovels if that happens," Steve offered.

"Why is hitting and punching your first reaction to everything?"

"If you have any alternatives, I'm all ears."

Bucky made a face. "I hate it when you're right."

There it was, that smug smile again. It had no business looking so good in Steve.

"I know I'll regret this," Bucky said, "but I still think we should take the advantage of daylight to sleep as much  as we can."

Steve raised his eyes from his sketching to look right into Bucky's. He looked puzzled.  "Why would you regret that?"

_ Because your body will be pressed against mine again and for the last time and I can't touch you, not the way I want, _ Bucky thought, _ and because sleep deprivation is seriously getting the best of me. _

"Because time will pass faster," he said instead. "I'm not in a hurry to see a corpse first hand."

Steve left the notebook aside and stood up. Then, he walked to Bucky and offered him his hand, sporting now a smaller and softer smile. "Come on," he said, warmly.

_ It's like he wants to kill me. _

Bucky forced a smile himself and took that hand.

"Besides," Steve continued, "the sooner we do this, the sooner we'll get back home."

"Aren't we supposed to stay here until dawn regardless?"

"The night will go smoother if we leave the ghosts without a reason to stay here."

Bucky let out an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright."

With that, he let himself be led back to the bedroom, one last time.

The last time, he was certain of it. He told himself he would not enjoy it, but he wouldn't make the experience miserable for Steve either. Besides, they were both tired enough to actually sleep this once.

 

* * *

 

They set the alarm clock before sunset in order to get enough spare time to change clothes and grab a bite before heading down to the basement. Therefore, when it went off,  the first thing Bucky did was to hide his head under the pillow.

"Get up. We have work to do," Steve said, elbowing his ribs.

"I know, I know." Said work was the reason he didn't want to get up, to be honest. But he did. For Steve.

The latter went to heat up more soup while Bucky went to double check on the shovels. They were in the exact condition they had left them, which was good. They would need only one, in the end, though.  Steve would never admit he lacked the strength and the endurance to take this adventure to the end himself. Bucky would have to stop him before he got exhausted. He was one of the few—or maybe the only—people out there with a chance on that front.

Nevertheless, he still had to pick his battles. For example, Steve insisted on carrying his own shovel down to the basement. Bucky didn't say anything. He only grabbed his own and followed him—after making sure to turn the gas off, that the windows remained secured, and the door was locked. Everything was in place, which helped to ease Bucky's nerves. Not that much, but one had to start somewhere.

"I wish I could still believe this is all smoke and mirrors," he said.

"I'm glad it's not smoke. I wouldn't have wanted to spend the past few nights coughing," Steve replied.

Bucky snorted and shook his head. "You're terrible."

"I want to think I'm practical."

To Bucky's surprise and Steve's credit, when they reached the basement's door, the latter was not even panting. Yet. Said door didn't seem particularly ominous either.

"Let me do the honors," Bucky said as he turned the knob, which opened much more smoothly than he had expected, making him grunt.

"Were you expecting to find it locked?" Steve asked.

"No," Bucky lied. "In any case, it isn't, so there's no point discussing it."

Next, with a flick of his finger, a light bulb right over their heads came to life revealing a staircase that did look ominous. It was old and in serious need of urgent maintenance, and it gave the impression that every step was ready to break down under Steve's weight alone. Furthermore, it went straight down to a darkness not even Bucky's flashlight could break from where they stood.

Steve whistled. "That's gonna be fun."


	3. Chapter 3

"Fun indeed," Bucky answered. He moved the shovel on his shoulder half to place it in a better position and half to give himself time to think about how to phrase the next part of his plan. "Steve, give me that," he said, as he reached out for the shovel.

"What? You don't think I can go down with it?"

"I don't think _ I _ can, to be honest."

"Then why do you want the two of them?"

"Because it's safer," Bucky began. "I was thinking of tying them up and lower them with the rope. That way neither of us have to carry them and we can focus on getting down there in one piece."

Steve frowned and then looked down the stairs. He saw sense in the end and gave Bucky the shovel. Not much later, both shovels were tied up with the rope and were let down with more care than what was warranted. They reached bottom while Bucky and Steve still had a few feet of rope to go. When they heard the thud and felt they wouldn't go any lower, they pushed the rest of the rope down.

"And now we know it's not that deep," Steve said as they did so. He turned to look at Bucky. "It's our turn."

Bucky took a deep breath and gave Steve the flashlight again. "I'm right behind you."

Steve nodded and went ahead, slowly and carefully. The wood creaked in a way that crisped Bucky's nerves with every step he took. But they managed. They reached the bottom without breaking a single floorboard.

Of course, it was then that things began to go wrong.

"We may have a problem," Steve announced as he looked all around them with the flashlight. "The entire floor is concrete."

"You're kidding me," Bucky said. He grabbed the flashlight and made an inspection himself.

Steve had been correct. The basement was empty except for some cobwebs and shelves filled with junk and more cobwebs, and the entirety of the floor was covered with concrete.

"How are we supposed to dig now?"

"There has to be a way," Steve said, trying to look under the shelves for some entry point.  

Before Bucky could make another comment or Steve get frustrated due the lack of findings, the flashlight flickered.

"…the hell," Bucky murmured, hitting the thing with the palm of his hand. It didn't work, and soon they were left in complete darkness.

"Buck?"

"I'm here," he replied. "Don't move."

"Didn't plan to."

But they didn't have to wait for long for anything to happen. A few seconds later, a blue light shimmered in front of them, growing in size and changing its shape until became a young woman. She stood with her back straight despite her pursed lips and worried expression. It had to be Veronica.

"You can start now," she said and her voice came with an echo. "I'll buy you as much time as I can. Please, save her."

She disappeared then. When she did, the flashlight came back to life, along with other light bulbs on the ceiling. Now they could see the basement in all of its glory—and the sudden patch of dirt in one of the corners.

"That wasn't there before, right?" Bucky asked.

"No," Steve said, picking up one of the shovels. "But you heard the dame." He offered the other one to Bucky.  "Let's dig."

 

* * *

 

They dug and dug and dug. Steve ran out of breath much sooner than he would have wanted. But, true to himself, he kept on digging, trying to go beyond his limits. A quality of his that could be admirable or frustrating, depending on the circumstances, and often both at the same time. Like right now, when his stubbornness was going to get him hurt. Again.

This was a good example of the kind of battles that Bucky should face straight on.

"You're going to pass out if you keep going on like that," he said, grabbing Steve's shovel.

"I'm fine!" Steve said, but he was panting.

"I won't carry you upstairs if you hurt your back and we have to run away from the evil ghost."

Steve grunted but let go of the shovel. "Only until I rest a little."

"Got it," Bucky said, making a real effort not to roll his eyes where Steve could see it. He placed the shovel against the wall and kept on digging.  

The whole endeavor had made him hot, so Bucky's sleeves were all rolled up, and not much later, he had to stop to regain his own breath and assess his progress. He hadn't made as much as he hoped.

"There's no end to this," he groaned. He was on the process of taking of his shirt when he turned to Steve to ask for his opinion.

Steve, had sat down on the stairs and, arms folded, he had been watching the action. But when Bucky turned around to see him, he found him all red, his eyes open wide, and apparently out of breath again.

"Steve? Are you alright?"

Steve jumped up. "I'll bring you some water," he said and began running upstairs, no paying attention to the way the steps creaked underneath him.

"Hey! Be careful!" Bucky yelled, but Steve didn't listen.

Well, that had been something, Bucky thought, picking up the shovel again. He wasn't sure what was that about, but he knew what he would want it to be about. Wishful thinking only, though, because that would never happen. So he just sighed and went back to his work.

However, time passed and Steve didn't return. Bucky stopped from time to time to look up to the stairs, waiting to see Steve coming down with that water he'd promised, but every time the stairs were empty. Part of Bucky wanted to go up and look for him, but that would meant to delay Ada's release , and he didn't know how that would fare with Veronica, who was supposed to be doing her part out there .

As he debated with himself, he heard a wail that froze his blood. There was no way to say who had screamed but that didn't matter. T he only person in Bucky 's mind was Steve, and Steve never screamed. No one had ever made him do it, not even once in all those beatings he had taken over the years; he was that stubborn. It would take a special kind of evil, just what they were dealing with right now.

Bucky sprinted up stairs , shovel in hand, taking two steps at the time, not caring whether they would break under him. They didn't, and he reached the ground floor in one piece. One there, he ran to the kitchen. He found Steve at the entrance. He was tens e, with squared shoulders and in the exact same position he had whenever he was about to go into a fistfight.

Bucky stopped only when he was next to him, ready to use the shovel as a weapon if he had to.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure," Steve growled, sounding frustrated.

Bucky tried to look inside the kitchen. A light blue orb and a black one were floating in front of each other in the middle of the room.

The black one shimmered. "FOR THE LAST TIME, LEAVE," said a voice coming from him, the same one they had heard on the radio. It tried to move toward them, but the other one got in the way.

"Go back downstairs! The end is close and he knows it!" said a voice coming from the blue orb, the same from the ghost they saw in the basement.

"Right," Bucky muttered, but Steve was tugging his sleeve already to lead him back to those horrible stairs.

 

* * *

 

Bucky didn't waste time making comments when Steve picked up his shovel as soon as they were back to the basement. They just worked together, as fast and as hard as they could. As Veronica had predicted, in less than five minutes, they hit something hard. At the same time, the light bulbs flickered and the basement went dark.

"Yes, this is it," Steve said.

Bucky stepped closer to Steve, although he only realized once he had done it, and turned on the flashlight. He discovered a wooden box, a makeshift coffin, reinforced with metal locks and hinges. The hinges had strange figures engraved on them. They looked eerily similar to the drawings in Steve's _ Haunted Buildings _ book. The one in the chapter about necromancers, to boot. Charming. On the plus side, it smell ed as wet dirt and moss. Far from what Bucky had feared.

"Now, to open it," he said, repressing a sigh.

"On it," Steve said. He raised the shovel to hit the hinges, but when it touched them, an invisible force threw him backwards, toward the wall.

"Steve!" Bucky yelled as he moved to catch him. They both ended on the floor once again, but at least they hadn't been hurt.

"I'm fine," Steve said. He had grabbed a fistful of Bucky's shirt, but he let go and jumped right back up to take big strides toward the coffin. "Let's try something else. Give me some light."

Bucky stood up and complied. He turned the flashlight back there and looked how Steve put the edge between the box and the lid . "Veronica!" he called. "We need you here now!" Then, he pushed down

Bucky braced himself to catch him in case he began flying again. But that didn't happen. The blue light had appeared again and covered the hinges. Encouraged by this , Bucky found a good place on the shelves to place the flashlight so he could join Steve working on the other end.

Soon, the hinges start ed to give in and the lid went up about an inch.

T wo black hands joined by black and very long arms came down from the ceiling, grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pulled him up, all the way to the ceiling . Then , they took him through, as if the ceiling was a simple veil and not hard wood and water pipes and electric cables.

"Steve!" Bucky yelled again. He grabbed the flashlight and ran upstairs once more. This time, however, it was like that time back in the first night, in the corridor. He kept climbing and climbing, but the stairs didn't end. The door was there. He could see it, but not reach it, and Steve was gone. Bucky hadn't being able to protected him. He had failed him.

Or… or maybe not. Maybe he still had a chance.

"Please!" he called, never stopping. "You said you'd help! You wrote—you promised to do anything in your power to set her free! I'd do the same for him! For the same reasons! I— " It was the worst time to feel self-conscious. He closed his eyes and tried again. " I love him!" It had been so strange to hear himself saying it out loud. It made it more real, some how. But he couldn't stop there. "I'll come back for her, to finish this, I swear! But I need to find him first!"

The blue light returned. This time, it appeared around the door frame. Weak at first, but its intensity grew. Two more steps and he stumbled back to the ground floor. Bucky was panting by then , but he managed to whisper, "Thank you," before he set out to look for Steve.

Steps echoing above his head helped him decide to rush to the first floor. If it was Steve doing all that running, after all the exercise and excitement in the past couple of hours he could end up collapsing .

The light was out in the entire building again, so Bucky kept a tight grip on the flashlight, reminding himself at every step that he should pay attention to where he put his feet. Getting himself hurt wouldn't help anyone, regardless of Steve's status . As he got close, the footsteps stopped not that far away .

Drawing a deep breath, he continued and found Steve when he turned around a corner. He was lying down on the floor panting and gasping, a hand over his chest. It had happened. His lungs had collapsed. The images he had had the first night of Steve's dead body came back as a flood Bucky could not stop.

_ He's not a corpse. He's alive. Alive _ , Bucky told himself as he knelt down him, refraining himself from hug ging him the way he wanted to; Steve had enough problems breathing already.

"Found you," Steve gasped, reaching out toward Bucky.

As a reflex, Bucky grabbed his hand. "Don't talk. Just breathe, okay?"

Steve found the strength to pull himself forward, so his head ended pressed against Bucky's chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. "Too dark… Couldn't find the exit…"

"I told you to shut up, Rogers," Bucky replied, but he hugged him now. Tight. Funny how whenever he reached a resolution, Steve happened and turned his intentions upside down. But Bucky knew first hand the terror that Steve had gone through. This was the least he could do.

Steve began to calm down and even to breathe better. Bucky only noticed he had been carding his hair with his fingers when Steve looked up at him and he had to stop. Those blue eyes stared at him with that same intensity he had noticed before. But he wasn't frowning. This time, he was not frowning.

"We should—" Bucky cleared his throat. "We should go back."

Steve began to frown and to tighten his grip on his shirt.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Bucky asked.

As an answer, Steve pulled him down for a kiss.

It took Bucky a moment to kiss him back , but he did it. He kissed Steve back with the same intensity, desperation, and relief. A voice in the back of his head told him to stop, to wait until Steve was better, but then he felt Steve's hand tangling in his hair and he kicked the voice away. He wasn't going to let go now. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Soon enough, Steve separated—barely—, and he was panting again, but it was a good kind of panting. Softer. Sweeter, even.

"Steve…" he murmured.

"I didn't think—"

"Me neither. I guess I managed to hide it well enough, huh."

Steve touched his cheek. "Since when?"

"I 'm not sure. I don't remember when it started. Only when I realized it ."

Steve pulled him to kiss him again. More slowly this time, and more focused on exploring his lips. Bucky reciprocated in kind, enjoying this, forgetting everything around them. Forgetting about the ghost and the curse.

The perfect moment for a chilling wind to rise around them, really, forcing them to break the kiss. But even then, Bucky didn't let go of Steve.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Bucky!" he heard in Steve's voice from the other side of the hall. The other side of the building, even. "Bucky! Where are you?"

Bucky froze.

"That… It sounded like me," Steve said.

"It's a trick," Bucky said. It had to be.

But then the voice called his name again, angry and demanding and yet compelling, the way only Steve could.

"It's a trap," Steve, the one in his arms, said.

Bucky's fingers stiffened around Steve's arms. It _ was _ a trap, but which one? Which Steve was the real one? The one that had kissed him or the one out there, unaware of what had happened and who would never reciprocate his feelings?

H e felt mortified. T errified. The answer was obvious. He knew this was too good to be true. He knew it. He had confessed his feelings out loud for the good ghost to hear, but the bad one had also heard him and took the advantage to play with him. To torture him and distract him.

He felt a piercing pain when his heart broke and he heard every piece fall down on the floor right next to his feet.

 

* * *

 

Bucky wouldn't let go of Steve and he wouldn't dare to look down at him. The moment he did, Steve's face would melt and twist into something from a nightmare—like this wasn't already a nightmare—and then disappear. Wasn't that how the stories in that notebook about enchanted houses went? A surprise from beyond the grave that would make the human's heart stop so he would drop down where he stood .

Well, the joke was on the ghost: Bucky's heart was already broken beyond repair.

The Steve in his arms shook him . Hard and relentless.

"Bucky, it's me! It's really me here!"

He wanted to believe that, that he would be that lucky, but…

"I found something in the attic!" Steve's voice called from far away.

"The attic?" Of all places, opposite direction of where the coffin was. A sobering thought right when he needed one . "Is he—He's trying to chase us away."

"Let's go back to the basement," the Steve next to him said.

Before Bucky could reply, the Steve from far away said, "Please, Bucky! Come here! I can't do this by myself!"

Then, Bucky laughed. Loudly and hysterically and for longer than it was really warranted . "Wow. That ghost doesn't know you at all."

"I feel deeply offended," Steve—the real Steve said—as he stood up and offered his hand to Bucky. "Come on."

Bucky finally looked at him. Yes, he was there, looking normal and determined to end what he had started. So he took that hand and, once again, he followed Steve down to the basement. Despite the fact that they still had to face a decaying body, he felt happy that he didn't have to let go this time.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said as they walked.

"What for?"

"For doubting."

Steve shrugged a shoulder. "It started as a decent impression ."

"Yeah, but…" Bucky was so relieved he didn't have to see Steve's face as he said this. "I also thought it was too good to be true?"

"What? The kisses?"

Steve's bluntness was both an embarrassment and a relief. Of course he would want to clear this up. T o be honest, though , it would be for the best.

Bucky nodded. "Yes. The kisses. "

"I'm the one who should think that. I mean, look at you. You're tall, strong, healthy, good, brave, generous. Meanwhile I'm—well, I'm me. Why would you ever want me when there's so many people out there who are better in every way?"

"Because it's you."

"And I'm defective."

Bucky stopped to stand before him, and he placed a hand on Steve's cheek. "You're not. I don't know if I'll ever convince you, but you should at least believe that, worst case scenario, I don't care."

It was rare to see Steve's vulnerability so close to the surface, but there it was. He usually kept it hidden under lock and key and anyone who tried to take a peek without his permission was bound to be punched or scratched or bitten. But here it was now. He was opening himself, trusting Bucky not to hurt him—and he wouldn't.

Bucky caressed Steve's cheek with his thumb. "I really don't care," he repeated in a whisper before leaning down to kiss him himself.

Steve clung to his neck and kissed him back. "Thank you," he said, against Bucky's lips.

"It's nothing."

Bucky smiled and pressed his forehead against Steve’s. H e would have wanted to stay there forever, but Steve and his sense of duty attack ed without warning .

"We need to get back to the basement ," he said. "We can continue this later."

Having now something he wanted to continue to do later softened the blow, however. Bucky nodded and, hand in hand, they went back downstairs .

 

* * *

 

"I'm still not in a hurry to see a dead body, you know?" Bucky said when they were back to pry open the coffin.

"Me neither, but it's the only way," Steve replied. He stopped for a moment to take a deep breath and, looking to the side, he said, "Bucky, in case something, you know, happens, I—"

Bucky closed the distance between them for a quick kiss again. "I know," he replied.

Steve underst ood. H e nodded and resumed his work.

They pushed with all their strength, ignoring the sudden freezing wind around them. Bucky didn't want to lift his eyes from the shovel in case he saw Mathewson circling around them. Closing in on them. Better not to know and focus on what he could do to stop him.

 

Then, they did it. A final crack and the hinges were broken.

Bucky tossed the shovel away. "Here we go," he said and opened the lid.

T he earth shook and darkness engulfed them again. The male-looking shadow they had seen on their first day appeared before them, on the right side of the coffin .

"What have you done!" he yelled from a faceless head.

"The right thing!" Steve exclaimed. "You don't have the right to keep anyone against their will, you big bully!"

"And you didn't have the right to interfere!"

"A bit too late for that," Bucky said. "We already did it."

The figure roared and twisted and then the wind rose around him, surrounding him and picking up speed. "You don't know what you've done! You'll pay! I'll make you pay!"

Meanwhile, the wind went faster and faster until it became a small hurricane that swallowed the man. It then pulled him down wards, toward the hole Bucky and Steve had dug out .

"No!" he cried out as he went down. He trashed around but he couldn't escape . He couldn't resist the wind.

Bucky turned around to hug Steve, but in doing so, he placed his leg within reach of the ghost's arm. Mathewson grabbed his ankle and pulled him down with him. He had just enough time to react and get a hold on the edge. He felt a wave of panic taking over his stomach.

"I can't feel the bottom!" he exclaimed. It was impossible. Literally impossible that his legs dangled the way they did. The hole was not that deep. But he knew now that if he were to fall, he would never find the bottom. He would fall for all eternity, sharing Mathewson's fate.

He tried shaking his leg, the ghost didn't let go. He cackled and had now grabbed both of Bucky's ankles. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying his terror.

"Bucky!" Steve yelled and hurried to grab his arms to pull him. He did his best, but Bucky was too heavy. Steve pulled and pulled, but every time, dirt would slide down and Bucky felt they were losing their grip.

"Steve—!"

"Don't tell me to let go, you asshole!"

"I wasn't going to !" Bucky lied, but he didn't see any other way. There would be no point in both of them falling, and it would be better if it was only him.

He moved again, but now to shake dirt from under him and to make himself more difficult to hold, so he could slip from Steve's grip. It hurt. It would've hurt even before he knew Steve reciprocated his feelings, too. And Steve would feel guilty, but he would get over it. He had to. If only one of them got to live, for Bucky the choice was already made.

He looked up, right to Steve's eyes. If he was going to do this, he needed to say it. It would be his last chance. "Steve—"

" _ Shut up! I said I won't let go! _ " Steve's eyes shone with a fire that even Bucky had never seen before. The effort had made Steve go red and his veins pop up. "I'll go down with you if I have to!"

"Don't! Steve!"

"I told you to shut up! Not another word! I love you, Bucky! I won't let go!"

There it was. Steve doing first what Bucky had thought to do , just like when he had been the one to initiate their first kiss.

What a terrible moment to tear up, right when he could neither wipe his eyes nor hide his expression. "I love you too," he mumbled. _ That's why you should let go, _ he should have added, but he couldn't bring himself to do so.

At that moment, two pair of hands took a hold of Bucky's arms, joining Steve's effort to pull him up. Both of them were light blue and felt solid and warm. Bucky stopped struggling and let them work. Within seconds, he was back on the ground, lying on his belly and catching his breath.

Mathewson hadn't been that lucky. He lost his grip on Bucky, and he fell down the bottomless pit, which closed as soon as his scream was barely audible. He sounded scared all the way through, and Bucky was glad; after all he had put them through, he didn't deserve to have it easy.

"I hope he rots down there ," Steve said, the harshness of his words in strike contrast with the gentleness of his hand on the back of Bucky's head.

"I wouldn't usually wish that on anyone, but ye ah. "

With Steve’s help, Bucky sat up to face both Veronica and Ada . They were both covered in a soft, blue light and they looked beautiful.

"So, we made it, then," Steve said.

They nodded.

"We're free now," said Veronica . "We can leave this place."

"Thank you," said Ada.

"A pleasure," Bucky said with an informal salute and the most charming smile he could muster.

The ghosts smiled at Steve and Bucky and then at each other before they transformed into orbs of light that went straight to the ceiling. They went through it, possibly to continue to ascend further up.

Steve went to look at the coffin. Bucky followed, just to discover that, opposite to what he had expected , it wasn't empty. A skeleton lay there. It wore a dress, a detail that was too much for Bucky, who closed the lid. Out of respect, he told himself.

Steve grabbed his hand. "We need to call the police."

Bucky tightened his grip. "It can wait until tomorrow, after we call Mr. Warren and we have our cover story ready." He turned around to Steve, who was already making a face. "I know you don't like it, but there's no way anyone would believe all of this, not even with that diary."

Steve sighed loudly and dramatically. "Nah, you're right. It'd be more trouble than it's worth. Specially now, that—" he made a pause and tugged Bucky's hand. "That we're together." Another pause where he risked a glance at Bucky's face. "Are we together?"

Bucky felt about to explode. He had been wanting this for so long, and now he could press Steve to the wall to kiss him until both of them went out of breath, or he could be a mature adult in what had to be the least romantic spot in New York City and get them out of there, preferably to a room without corpses around. "Yes. I want that. Do you want to go upstairs and talk about it?"

"Yeah," Steve replied. "Yeah, I do."

 

* * *

 

Back in the kitchen, Steve prepare d tea. Both his expression and he way he put the teapot on the stove would have fooled any casual observer into thinking that he was angry. But Bucky knew better. Steve was nervous, and Bucky himself was too, to be honest. It would be better to go ahead and risk passing an arm around Steve, which he did .   He relaxed when Steve leaned against him.

He was tired—they both were—but now that Bucky said they had to talk, they would. Steve would keep himself awa ke until they'd done it.

Bucky began. "What's going to happen now?"

"People should be able to return to live here."

"Right. They should. But I meant us."

"Oh, yes. I don't know."

That one stung, badly. Bucky looked away. "Oh."

"But if we could handle the ghosts, we can handle any busybodies with unwanted opinions."

It took a moment for Bucky to process this. Steve hadn't meant that he had had second thoughts . He meant he didn't know how they would deal with others. The answer to that was clear for Bucky: not to tell anyone else. But it'd be better that Steve arrived to that conclusion on his own. For now, he laughed and hit Steve with his elbow.

"You scared me!" he said.

"What? Why?" Steve said, frowning in surprise .

"I thought you didn't want to. It still feels too good to be true. Like I'm about to wake up and all of this was a dream."

He scoffed. "For what it's worth, if it wasn't you, I would think it's all a prank."

"But it isn't," Bucky said, pulling Steve closer.

"I know. I—what I didn't know is that you liked men too."

"Yeah, about that. I've known since Clark Gable. You? "

Steve pouted and went red. " Well, yes, Clark Gable is good looking. But you've been next to me being more handsome and it took all of this for me to realize what I feel!"

_ More handsome than Clark Gable _ , Bucky repeated in his head. He knew he had a ridiculous smile now, but he could live with that. "The important thing, though, is that now we both know."

" That's all I care about. Not what anyone else might say," Steve blurted out.

"Do you really don't care or are you going to start a fistfight with the first person who gives you a dirty look?"

Steve scoffed. "Buck, when haven't I started fistfights with people who give me dirty looks?"

"Alright. With the first one who gives _ me _ a dirty look."

"Already do that too."

Bucky groaned. "Steve, this is serious. I want to do this, but not if you're going to get in more trouble than usual."

Steve sighed and rested his head against Bucky's arm, grumping . "I want this. I want you. W e better say nothing. We spend most of our time together anyway. No one will ask."

"If that's fine with you, it's fine with me too ."

T here it was. Someone should give Bucky a medal.

Then, Steve suddenly groaned. "We've been sleeping on the same bed the past three days and I didn't know. Bucky, I'm sorry."

"Hey, I brought it on myself by never saying anything."

"I'll make it up to you."

"It's fine, honest."

Steve stopped Bucky's protests via pushing him against the wall to kiss him. Despite not being too much technique to it, and having to lean down into it, it was a wonderful kiss. It made Bucky feel like he was wanted just like he wanted Steve. Even if thinking otherwise, after all that they just had gone through, was frankly ridiculous.

Bucky reciprocated holding Steve tight against him and pressing himself further against the wall. Hopefully, he woul d neither notice nor start complaining. However , Bucky himself forgot about that. There were much more important things in the world. In his world.

Panting, Steve separated only to hide his face against Bucky's chest .

"Bucky…" Steve began.

Once more, Bucky knew what he meant. However, this time an 'I know' would not suffice. Besides, not having to look at his face would make it easier. The first time at least.

Bucky pressed his face against Steve's hair. "I love you, Steve," he said.

"I love you too, Buck," Steve replied.

Bucky hugged him more tightly. He hadn't woken up. All of this had happened, and he had not woken up.

"If you still want to do that comic, I guess I can be the love interest after all."

Steve laughed and looked up. His eyes were sparkling and he had that wonderful smile on. "Don't think I won't do it. Might be hard to get an actual publisher for it, though."

"We survived this, we can do anything."

"Like talking to Mr. Warren and coming up with a good-enough story for the police."

"Been thinking about it," Bucky said. "We can say there were thieves down there. Flesh-and-bone ones. Three of them. Who the hell knew what they were doing, but we chased them away and they left the basement as it is now."

"Sounds simple enough. But only three?"

"Hey, we chased them away without problem! They can be big ones though."

"Alright," Steve said. Placated, he rested his head against Bucky's chest again. "There's still some time before dawn. Do you want to go take a nap?"

"A nap?" Bucky asked, tracing circles on Steve's back.

"Do you have something else in mind?"

The question sent a shiver down Bucky's spine. "Maybe. How tired are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Bucky laughed. "Asshole," he said before leaning down and starting the kiss this time before dragging Steve upstairs to find out the answers to those questions.

In any case, dawn found them resting in each other's arms, and it was the first one of many to do so.


End file.
